


Bearskin Rug

by hwbswd



Series: Fruity Drinks [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Porn with Feelings, here have some more porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwbswd/pseuds/hwbswd
Summary: “This is like the start to a cheesy porno,” Flake says, teeth chattering. “The kind that ends with rolling around on a bearskin rug.”“I think I could help, there,” says Till.“Well, we did always say we’d love to have you visit the place in the off-season,” Paul says.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake, Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake/Till Lindemann
Series: Fruity Drinks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825258
Comments: 27
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Till picks up on the second ring. “Paul. Hey.”

Without preamble, Paul asks, “How do you tell if someone has hypothermia?” 

“How?” 

He can hear Paul chuckle tightly. “That wasn’t a setup for a joke, I was actually asking.”

“Which someone are we talking about?” 

“As if you have to ask.” 

Till grins, despite the topic. “I assume he’s mobile?” He doesn’t quite remember the order of hypothermia severity, but that’s surely one of them.

“Walked his dumb ass home, yep.” 

“Well, is he stupider than usual?”

“I mean, he maybe has hypothermia, so yes, pretty stupid.” Paul sounds irked, which might mean he’s actually worried. 

“Do you -” 

At the same time, Paul says, “Can you -?” And then laughs, nervously. “If it’s not a bother.” 

“On my way.” 

Outside it’s been thinking about sleeting all day, but hasn’t quite worked up the courage to do more than rain dismally. It only takes Till ten minutes to walk there, they live just down the way. It’s dusk already, sunset comes early these days. 

Paul lets him in. “See, Flake, this is what ‘dressing for the weather’ looks like,” he says loudly over his shoulder.

Till takes off his streaming coat and tries to not track his muddy boots around. The only response to Paul’s comment is a loud sniff. He notes a small pile of sodden clothing in the entry. 

“Flake, did you go out in that?” he asks. The lump of blankets on the couch must be him, despite the complete lack of features. 

“I-i-i-it wa-wa-as b-be-be-autiful.” He’s not stuttering, that sounds different. He’s shivering. 

Paul rolls his eyes. “Yes, it was very scenic, I’m sure.” 

Till sits on the couch beside him and peels back enough blanket to see the tip of his nose. “So you took a walk,” he suggests. 

“In exactly all of that,” Paul points at the sad little heap of wet clothes, “for hours and hours.”

Till expects some kind of comeback from Flake, but all he says is “Ye-e-e-ah.” 

“That’s actually textbook conditions for hypothermia.” Till dredges his memory. “Is he uncoordinated?” 

“Couldn’t get his shoelaces undone.” Paul is actually more distressed-looking than what little he can see of Flake. Though Flake is making the whole couch vibrate with his shivers, which seem to ramp up occasionally. 

“Can we feed him something?” Till’s memory of what to do with frozen hunters is returning. “Ideally hot?” 

They get a cup of leftover potato soup into him, he ends up drinking it messily straight out of the mug without using the spoon. But Till isn’t really liking how he looks drowsy while shaking as hard as he is. 

“So,” Paul says, “internal warming is great, but -” he puffs out his cheeks. “How do you feel about being a hot water bottle?” He’s raising an eyebrow, like it’s a joke, but he’s definitely asking seriously and with trepidation. 

“The job I was born to do,” Till replies, confidently. Truly, if he’s good for nothing else, he can put out body heat with the best of them. 

Paul goes into the bedroom, and Till coaxes the bundle containing Flake to his feet. If he didn’t know better he’d say he was drunk. 

Paul has what must be every blanket they own pulled out on the floor. “Get in.” He’s taken the bed down to just the bottom sheet. “Then I’ll layer.” 

Flake doesn’t want to let them unwind the blanket he’s swaddled in, and when they finally pry him out of it he curls into a tight ball in the center of the bed underneath it. He’s naked under there, of course, only the blanket between him and the air. His hair is damp. He looks pale, almost waxy, and he’s bluish around the lips and fingernails. Paul takes his glasses off his unresisting face. 

He pokes one finger out as Till pulls up a corner of the blanket to get in. “Nnnnnnnuh-uh, n-n-no pants.” 

Till looks to Paul, who nods. Till strips to his underwear, this doesn’t seem like the time to care. 

“You might as well lose those too,” says Paul. “They can’t help.”

“I doubt they hurt,” says Till, but he drops them as well, and tries to get enough of the blanket away from Flake to get under it. When he does, it’s like cuddling a refrigerated side of venison. His skin is remarkably cold, and every stringy muscle under it is jumping, a fast spasming that makes his legs jerk almost imperceptibly. 

Paul starts adding blankets one at a time. 

Till tucks Flake’s frigid back against his chest. “How did you even manage this, Flake? You hate being cold.” 

“I-it w-w-w-as fine wh-whi-wh-ile I wa-a-a-as w-wa-lk-alk-ing,” Flake says determinedly. He wiggles his chilly, twitchy butt up against Till.

“Idiot,” Paul supplies. Flake nods jerkily, apparently in agreement. 

Till is struck that he’s never been in their bed. They’ve messed around in hotel rooms, mostly just the once plus some making out, but it’s been a tour thing. He’s slept on their couch out of convenience (and intoxication), he’s spent a lot of time in their kitchen, but he’s never been in their bed. Definitely not with both of them. Definitely not naked. He reminds himself that he’s very much here by invitation. That it’s okay, that they wanted him here.

The blankets are enough that Till would be hot if he didn’t have Flake leaching heat out of him like something out of the depths of a lake. Paul flaps out the last one, then steps out of the room. The bathroom door closes. 

“Paul?” Flake says. When he doesn’t get an answer he calls again, louder and almost frightened-sounding. “ _Paul_?” 

“He just went to the bathroom,” Till says, pulling Flake closer. Poor dumbass must be a bit disoriented. 

“Oh.” 

It really is only a second before Paul returns, but he thinks Flake relaxes. It’s hard to tell with all the shivering, though. “Did you lose me?” Paul asks, with a chiding smirk. 

“No,” says Flake, defensively. 

Paul shoves down his pants and peels off his shirt before diving under the covers. “Oh my god, you’re like an icepack.” Flake has shifted away from Till to wrap himself around Paul. “Gak,” Paul winces. 

“This is like the start to a cheesy porno,” Flake says unsteadily. He’s lower in the bed than the other two, only the top of his head poking out of the many blankets. “The kind that ends with rolling around on a bearskin rug.” 

“I think I could help, there,” says Till. 

“Well, we did always say we’d love to have you visit the place in the off-season,” Paul says. 

“Did you?” 

Paul reaches across Flake and puts his hand on Till’s hip. “Just said so, didn’t I?” He pulls, and Till presses back up to Flake. He puts his arm across both of them. For a while the only sound is Flake’s chattering teeth. 

It’s fully dark out now, though it’s only late afternoon. With just a lamp on in the room it’s yellow and cosy. It sounds like the weather finally got itself together to sleet, it’s hissing against the window. Till rubs his hand up Paul’s slightly rounded side to his shoulder. “Hey. He’s fine. Really. You did everything right.” 

“I’m right here,” chatters Flake between them. 

“Shut it, you’re also acting drunk and are going to be the death of me.” 

“Sorry.” Flake bumps his head apologetically under Paul’s chin. 

Paul swallows. “The only thing I did right was call you.” 

“That counts,” Till says. He slides his hand around to Paul’s smooth back and pulls him in. Flake yawns shakily. “Plus you got him dry, which was most of the problem. Entirely counts.”

Paul squeezes his eyes shut. “This was supposed to be something you could come to for fun. Just a nice vacation, where we would take care of you sometimes.” 

Till rubs his thumb in a circle on Paul’s shoulder blade. “You don’t have to only take care of people. I can be a tourist who helps out. Pick up some trash, dig some sea turtle nests, or whatever it is people do.” 

“I’m pretty sure sea turtles have to dig their own nests,” Flake says. He’s still pretty cold to the touch, but he can stop the shivers when he talks, which is new. 

“Whatever. Build hiking trails? Clear brush? Fix roofs? Or you can come visit me sometime.”

“Okay,” agrees Flake easily. 

Paul heaves out a breath. “I guess.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but not unwilling to become so, either. 

A few moments later Flake announces, “My feet really hurt.” 

“Thawing out?” 

“Unfortunately.” Flake sounds more normal, less woozy. “Owww. Fuck.” 

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to tough that out,” Paul says. “Not much we can do.” 

Till rubs his own foot on Flake’s. It still reminds him of swimming, how much heat Flake’s body is pulling out of his own, just the way that cold water does. “The faster they warm up the better.”

Flake shifts around uncomfortably. He slides his clammy feet up Till’s shins. “Paul, have I told you that Till is really hot?” 

Paul laughs. “Yes, dear.” 

“I’m right here,” says Till. 

“And a very valuable import,” says Flake. 

Till’s not sure how to respond to that. His chest squeezes. He kisses the back of Flake’s head. 

Paul raises an eyebrow at him. _Okay?_

Till nods. 

After a few more minutes of groaning and rubbing his frigid feet on Till, Flake says, “Okay, I have to pee.”

“You’re on your own for that,” Paul replies. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Flake says tartly. Till’s guessing that little exchange was a version of something they’ve said many times. 

One of the only conflicts between them that Till knows about is that if permitted to, Flake will just lazily abdicate normal responsibilities, like keeping track of his stuff or planning a grocery list. At least once Flake came to his place because he locked himself out rather than bother to be in charge of where his own keys were. If allowed to he would make someone else entirely run his affairs, and Paul has been pushing them back onto him for the whole time Till has known them. Till fears that he personally wouldn’t have the fortitude to do it, and he’s not sure what the endpoint would be, but he can see that it would be bad for both Flake and whoever became his unwitting caretaker. 

Till sits up to let Flake out. He looks better, less blue. Paul rubs Till’s forearm while Flake is out. He comes back, and Till takes a turn. 

When he gets back in bed Flake reaches behind himself to pull Till closer. “It’s freezing out there.” He’s shivering again, more than Till would have expected. “And my hands are puffy and weird.” He pops one out of the covers to show it. They settle snugly together, all three, Paul puts his arm across and on Till’s hip, and Till reaches over to hold Paul by the back like before. 

Flake moves his arm from Till’s waist and wraps it around Paul’s back. Paul hisses. Flake finds Till’s hand and covers it, moving off of Paul’s skin. He shifts around for a few moments before he settles. Over several minutes the shivers die out. It takes several more minutes for him to stop tensing. With his muscles no longer spasming he seems floppy, like he’s used up all his muscle tone. 

“We’re never moving, are we?” Till whispers to Paul over Flake’s head. 

“Not with him asleep like that,” replies Paul. Till just thought Flake was very relaxed, but yeah, he’s completely conked out. 

Till must have drifted off himself, because the next thing he’s aware of is Paul switching off the light. 

Minutes or hours later, he becomes aware of Flake rubbing his skinny ass on Till’s dick. Said dick is conveying its interest in no uncertain terms. Till tries to move away, there’s intimate and then there’s sleep-fucking, and he’s not sure Flake is awake. 

“Come back,” Flake insists. 

“You awake?” 

“Enough. Get.” 

Till slides back, and as he does Flake reaches between his own legs to grab Till’s dick and pull it between his thighs. Paul’s hand lands back on his hip, he must be awake too. Paul squeezes lightly, and Till thrusts sleepily. Flake is so skinny, and he’s pressed so closely to Paul, that Till extends enough beyond the fronts of his legs to press the tip between Paul’s thighs as well. He’s never thought of fucking them both at the same time like this, but that seems like a major oversight on his part. 

He rolls his hips a few times. He likes how Paul is a squashier, tighter grip around the head. Flake is still cool, he’s warmer between his legs than on his back but noticeably not as warm as Till’s skin. 

As wonderful as that all is, in the battle of horniness versus sleepiness, sleepiness is winning. Till sinks himself in a couple times, but it doesn’t seem worth fighting that hard. He’s not in a hurry. Instead he gropes between them. Not only are their thighs mashed together, so are their cocks. Paul feels to be at about half-mast, Flake is fully hard. They must do this in their sleep often, just quietly rub up against each other. It doesn’t seem to be especially purpose-driven, they’ve both been just lying still. Well, except for Flake grinding on him.

Till wraps his hand around both. That seems to wake Paul up a bit, he stiffens noticeably. They’re both slightly larger than Till. Something else he’s known for years. But while Till knows he’s nothing special in the pants, what he does have is huge hands. He can cover most of them, broad fingers pulling them into the meat of his palm. He surprises himself with how much he loves the feel of them together in his hand. He strokes them slowly, and Flake sighs. 

When he rises to awareness again, Paul is minutely thrusting into his slack fist, and Flake is quietly snoring. Till is soft but still held between Flake’s legs. He goes back to sleep. 

He thinks he’s waking somewhere between every few minutes and every hour or so. It’s hard to tell, it’s unchangingly dark in the room. He slides around between Flake’s thighs when he feels like it but he’s not really going anywhere with it, just enjoying the sensation before sleep overtakes him again. 

Sometimes when he wakes it’s of his own accord, sometimes one of them moves and he stirs with them. In his hand their erections come and go, independent of each other. He can run his thumb over the head of whichever one of them is hard, sometimes they push up to meet him, sometimes they don’t. 

Both of them soft in his hand feels somehow like the greatest treasure. He’s washed over again with that feeling of unearned trust, he really can’t imagine why they would permit him to be with them like this, but he’s determined to not fuck it up. 

At some point Paul is warm enough to start sweating and push the blankets down, but he doesn’t move away. Flake might finally be a normal temperature. 

Later in the night Flake’s breaths turn to slow sighs, puffing out onto Paul’s neck. Till rubs and strokes both of them. Paul is back to half-hard. Flake thrusts and squirms, moving his thighs around Till’s cock pleasantly. Till kisses the back of his neck and speeds up his hand, and Flake’s sighs turn to little quiet cries, just high ‘hah’s of pleasure. Paul wakes enough to kiss his face. Till bends to drop kisses across Flake’s naked shoulders as he fights for friction between them. 

He comes with his mouth on Paul’s, any noises muffled and kissed away, his hips raised spasmodically into Till’s hand. Till thinks about following him, and thrusts drowsily for a while, but the weight of sleep is too much. Slightly guiltily he wipes his hand on Flake’s belly before cradling them both again. 

The next time he wakes, it’s to Paul getting up. Flake turns in his arms, finally warm. Paul comes back from the bathroom and gets back in. 

“What time is it?” Till asks. It’s just as dark as it ever was, but his body is announcing that it’s had all the sleep it knows what to do with. And he’s hungry. They didn’t have dinner. 

“Quarter after three,” Paul says. “That’s what happens when you fall asleep at six PM.” 

“Anybody else come?” inquires Flake against Till’s chest. “Or just me?” 

“Just you,” says Paul. 

“So, Paul,” Till says. “Between hungry and horny, which do you want me to take care of first?”

Paul turns on the light. Till blinks until it stops hurting his eyes. Paul is sitting bare-chested, sleep-soft and stunning. He reaches to put his hand on his knee under the heavy blankets. 

“Myself, I’m pretty hungry,” he goes on, when Paul doesn’t immediately answer. “But I’d not mind starting by doing anything you wanted, either.” 

Paul frowns unhappily. “I did want this to be something we could do for you. Not the other way around.” 

Till sits up, pushing the pillow up behind him. Flake curls on his side, upper body in Till’s lap. His whole bony back is exposed, so he must be warm enough. Till runs his fingers through the mess of his hair. 

“I.” Till swallows. That’s not a great start. “I, Paul, I know exactly what I am. If you two are a beautiful island, I’m a completely different place. Not nearly as nice a place. All the things the brochures warn about are even worse than they look.” 

Paul nods but stays quiet, mouth tight. 

“But amid the - the burned villages and the strip mines and the dry lakes, there’s some mountains. They’re not easy mountains, they’re steep and cold and inhospitable. But the view is good, if you can get there. And there’s a cabin. It has a big fireplace and a little bed and a bearskin rug that some misguided idiot hiked all the way up there. I want you to visit it. I want you both to stay there with me sometimes.” 

Flake is gently stroking his leg. Till wipes his nose and goes on. “You’ve brought me a lot of happiness. You’ve brought me into your bed, not a hotel bed but at home, and it smells like you both. You smell like each other, you know. And I want you to roll around on my bearskin rug like - like a cheesy porno, and feel like you can come there and be safe. I’ll never have beaches. I’ll never have palm trees. But that little cabin is for you. Whenever you want to stay.” 

Quietly, in his lap, Flake says, “Paul, put down that watering can,” which, since there’s nothing around that could even very creatively be called a watering can, means Till just walked into something he doesn’t at all understand. 

But Paul looks at him like he’s looking from a long way away, heaves a shaky breath, and says, “Okay.” He covers Till’s hand on his knee with his own. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Flake pats his calf, almost like he’s congratulating him. 

“So,” Till says. “Why don’t I start on pancakes, and you can think about how you’d most like to get off.” He transfers Flake over to Paul’s lap, and puts on his underwear and sweater, and figures he’ll let them talk amongst themselves for a minute.


	2. Chapter 2

Till makes his way barefoot to the kitchen in the dark. Dawn is still hours off. It’s weird turning on lights, it feels more like a midnight party than an early-morning start, even though Paul left a toothbrush out for him in the bathroom. He can’t find milk, so pancakes are out, but there’s sausage and eggs and potatoes. He figures if they didn’t want him to use anything he knows how to get more. 

He’s frying the diced potatoes when Flake wanders out. He looks like his hair has at least three different ideas of what it wants to be and it’s trying them all. He has on thick socks and sweatpants under a blanket. He wraps his arms around Till’s waist, right there at the stove. 

“Hey.” Till reaches his free hand back to hug him through the blanket. “All good?” 

“Very,” Flake tells his back. “Very good.” 

“I can’t find milk, so no pancakes.” 

“Yeah, I have to get more.” Flake rubs his cheek on Till’s shoulder. “You should blow Paul in the shower. He loves it.” 

“On it.” 

“Also I’m starving.” 

“Yeah, that’ll happen when you have hypothermia instead of dinner.” 

Flake laughs. Till spears a potato chunk from the pan with a fork and blows on it to cool it before he offers it over his shoulder to Flake, who just eats it from his hand instead of taking the whole fork like Till expected. Around it he says, “That was the nicest hypothermia hand job I’ve ever had.” 

Till grins. “What was the worst?” 

“Technically that, but it was definitely the best.” 

Till feeds him another bit of potato. “What’s this about a watering can?” 

“He’s the little red hen, ‘I planted the wheat, I watered the wheat,’ except he does it even when someone else says, ‘I’m here to water the wheat, give me that watering can’.” 

“Ah.” 

“I’m way too good at accepting help, and he’s not nearly good enough.” Till holds out a piece of potato, Flake opens his mouth for him to pop it in. “See?” 

Till shrugs. “I’m liking this.” He turns back and kisses Flake’s lightly stubbled cheek while he chews. “This is good for me.” 

Paul arrives, looking less disarranged only because his hair is too short to muss. “Good morning, I guess? Anybody want coffee?”

Till scrambles eggs. “I’m so confused about what time it is. Sure, why not. It’s like being jet lagged.” 

“Only there’s no milk,” Paul says, glaring at Flake. 

“There’s cream,” Flake says, hands out. 

Till gets out plates from next to Paul. “Flake says I should blow you in the shower.” 

Paul spills coffee grounds on the counter. “Yeah?” He sweeps them into his hand.

“Yeah, so I’m going with that unless you tell me you’d rather something else.” He offers Paul the fork with a potato cube on it. Paul silently takes the fork from his hand. “Good?” 

Paul nods, wide-eyed and quiet for once, and eats his potato. 

Till hands him a plate. “But first we’d better feed Flake before he wastes away.” 

He had been pretty generous on the portions. Flake still eats twice as much as he does, fully half of everything he cooked. Till drinks black coffee and admires them. Flake looks so much better, pink and warm and alert, though he still complains that his hands and feet feel weird. Paul is thoughtful, a bit guarded. Flake is touching him often, a long hand around his bicep or gently bumping their heads together. Paul doesn’t reciprocate at first, but after a while he pulls Flake’s hand into his lap and holds it there. 

Till washes dishes. 

“I can do that,” says Paul. 

“I got it,” says Till. “Won’t take a minute.” He thinks for a second. “Keep me company?” Flake has gone back in the bedroom. 

“Bored?” asks Paul. 

Till wants to hug him, convince him it’s not any amount of effort from Paul that’s keeping him interested, kiss all the doubt off his face, but now that he can’t seems like the perfect time for this. He scrapes the pan, though there’s hardly anything to clean off, Flake practically licked it. 

So instead he says, “Not in the slightest. Actually having a great time. Want to tell me about what would be a good time for you? Or at least what not to do?” 

Paul sits on the counter, bringing his face up to Till’s height. He tucks his hands under his legs and looks at his swinging feet. “It’s nothing physical, you could do anything, within reason. It’s that I don’t trust anyone.” He takes a deep breath. “And it’s bad for me. I can see that it is. I run away from anything that smells even a little like I might end up owing someone.” 

Till nods and scrubs a plate. “Even when you’re wrong.”

“Even when I’m wrong. Or it’s a normal part of a reciprocal relationship.” 

“Does it help to know that you’re not the only one benefitting in the moment?”

“It should. I’m not sure if it does. It might.” 

Till moves on to the coffee cups. “Well, anything you want is good for me, even if it’s nothing. Physically, you could do anything, too. But could you do me a favor?” He puts the cups in the dish rack and dries his hands. 

Paul perks up, in a skeptical sort of a way. 

He stands in front of Paul and puts one hand on either side of his knees, boxing him in. He leans close to his ear. “Can I blow you? Because right now I’d sincerely like nothing better than sucking you off in the shower at four in the morning.” 

Paul’s eyes darken, and Till mouths down his neck. Paul makes a little movement, like he was going to pull away but instead decided to tilt his head for easier access. Into his skin Till murmurs, “Go on, stretch out in front of the fire.” He kisses under his jaw, and Paul sucks in a breath. “Have some mulled wine.” Paul opens his knees, and Till presses himself between them. “Roll around on the rug.” He relocates his hands to Paul’s hips while he closes his eyes and carefully kisses his mouth. He tastes like coffee, especially once he starts to open his mouth and mash his tongue on Till’s. He’s escalating everything fast, like he’s not sure he’s enjoying it, but wants to. When Till starts to pull away he leans after him and wraps his legs around his back. 

Flake must have padded in without Till hearing him, because now he’s right beside them, pouring himself another cup of coffee and saying conversationally, “So, are we doing this?” 

Till keeps his eyes on Paul. With Paul’s legs around his waist he says lowly, “I bet I could carry you.”

“I bet you could, too,” Paul says. “But I’ll walk.” He unhooks his legs and Till reluctantly gives him enough space to jump off the counter and lead the way. 

In the bathroom Paul pushes him up against the wall and kisses him fast, like he’s nerving himself up. Flake eels naked past them and gets in the shower first, saying “Someone smeared come all over me.” He must have left his clothes in the hall. Looking at him over Paul’s shoulder, Till feels unaccountably proud of himself. His stomach is rounded with food in a way it seldom is. 

“Sorry,” says Till, as Paul grips his chin and thoughtfully thumbs his lower lip. 

Cheerfully behind the curtain Flake says, “Oh, please don’t be. Get in already, Paul.” He starts the water. 

Paul pulls away and peels off his shirt. “Coming. How much jizz is on you now?” 

“Less than there was, and less than there will be. Come on.” Flake is splashing around, maybe washing his hair. 

Paul slides off his sweatpants right in front of Till. He’s not wearing underwear, and Till is almost dizzy with - lust? Adoration? Gratitude? Whatever it is, it makes his head spin as Paul’s perfect form disappears into the shower. 

“Till!” Flake calls impatiently. 

“Put this on the floor for me, would you?” He hands in a folded towel, he hasn’t had kneepads built into every stage costume for all these years to not know that it matters. 

It’s going to be snug, Till alone takes up a lot of a shower. Flake backs up against the far wall as he gets in and pulls Paul to himself, back to his front. Till crowds them, kissing Paul and running his hands over his wet chest. He mouths across his collarbones and sucks in one nipple, and Paul reaches behind himself to wrap his arms around Flake in a sort of backwards hug. It makes his body arch, pushing his chest up and his hips out, and if Paul wants to know that Till is enjoying this he’s seriously going to have no problem telling him. 

He arranges the sodden towel and kneels down, and when he looks up Flake has Paul’s cock in his hand and is slowly stroking, just fondling the foreskin over and back off the head. It’s right at Till’s eye level, and he thinks he makes a noise, a guttural grunt, but he’s not actually sure. Paul is tipped back against Flake, mouth open and shoulder muscles tight. Flake’s other arm is around his chest, and as Till stares up in awe Flake winks down at him. 

Till feels himself flush, of all unlikely things, as Flake’s eyes bore into his. It’s not embarrassment, it’s that feeling that made him dizzy before. 

Flake laughs delightedly. “Paul,” he kisses Paul’s head. “Paul, you’re going to want to see this.” 

Paul prys his eyes open, and Till stays where he is as they sweep over him, kneeling back on his heels, fists on his thighs, cock throbbing, face red. Flake strokes Paul again, and Till’s eyes snap down to watch of their own volition, and he feels the flush spread to his chest. 

“Oh,” breathes Paul. 

“Paul,” he reaches both hands up to his sides, “You’re both going to take care of me, aren’t you?” He’s pulling himself to Paul’s belly, licking across the wet skin. “You’re going to let me, let me do this for you, aren’t you?” He sucks in a big soft mouthful. 

“Yeah,” says Paul, “yeah, of course.” Till squeezes the flesh of his waist and kisses down his belly open-mouthed, and Paul gasps, “but that’s not actually my dick.” And then he laughs breathlessly. 

“Yeah, here,” says Flake helpfully, angling Paul’s cock out. 

Till decides against making a smart reply, and in favor of getting that cock in his mouth already. There’s going to be no deep-throating in this position. He was going to use his hand, but Flake is there holding the base of it conveniently. He takes Paul in until his lips are flush with Flake’s knuckles. 

He’s not shy about making noise, he wants there to be no question about how he feels about this. He’s never had a helper for a blowjob before, but Flake definitely knows what to do. When he presses his lips to Flake’s fingers he hears both of them exhale together. He does it again, it seems to get a good reception. 

He’s pretty sure Paul wants to move, but tends to hold himself back. Maybe Flake prefers that. He pulls off with as much tongue as he can put into it, and says, “You can thrust, I like it.”

“You’re not going to choke?”

“Not with Flake’s hand like that. Wouldn’t even mind if I did,” he muses. And then slides Paul back in. Paul makes a cautious roll of his hips, and Till replies with a deep appreciative groan. He runs his hands over everything he can reach, from Paul’s chest to his hips, dodging over Flake’s arms. And down, cradling his balls, stroking down his thighs, around to the backs of his knees and calves. Above him Flake is whispering to Paul, and knowing him it’s either surpassingly sweet or astoundingly filthy. Actually, knowing him, it’s probably both. 

They get into a good rhythm, Paul sliding himself through Flake’s hand into Till’s mouth. Till is the loudest of them, he’s not even doing it to put on a show anymore, just enjoying the thick slick push over his lips. Paul is breathing harshly. Flake isn’t loud, but he’s saying a steady stream of whispered words until Paul twists in his arms and smashes their mouths together. 

When he comes with a grunt Till thinks he’s only held up by his arms locked around Flake’s back and Flake’s arm pulling him back against his chest. But that can’t be right, there’s no way Flake could hold him. Nevertheless, the feeling of his knees going soft is unmistakable. Till sucks until Paul jerks away from him. 

Till stands, the spray of the shower suddenly warm on his back. He’s not sure if Paul will accept a kiss just now, but clearly Flake will - he reaches for the back of Till’s neck, and there’s that shy-looking lowering of the eyes that he does. Till is realizing it’s not shy at all as Flake licks over Till’s lips and into his mouth, like he’s _trying_ to get Paul’s spunk. Paul leans his forehead against Till’s shoulder. 

Till wraps his arms around both of them. Paul is heaving with heavy breaths against him. He had been distracted from it, but now he’s aware of his almost painful erection trapped against Paul. He nuzzles above Paul’s ear. “All right, there?” 

Paul looks blearily at him. “Same to you.” He unwinds his arms from around Flake and moves them to Till’s back, curling them up around his shoulder blades. Like wings. 

Till is going to say something enthusiastic, but what he says instead is, “Can I wash your hair?” 

“I -” Paul sounds surprised. “You don’t want me to take care of that first?” He rocks against Till’s hips. Till direly wants to reciprocate, to rub himself all over Paul’s resilient body. He does what he wants more, which is to cup Paul’s face with one hand and duck down to kiss him like he wants to heal every hurt he’s ever had. Paul opens to his mouth easily, head leaned against Flake’s shoulder. Flake strokes Till’s upper arm. 

After a moment Till has an inspiration. “Can _Flake_ wash your hair?” 

“Yeah, all right,” pants Paul pliantly, eyes closed. So that line about ‘I don’t trust anybody’ had some major exceptions. Till thought so. 

“Good one,” says Flake. 

They squeeze past each other so that Paul is under the showerhead. He closes his eyes and loops his arms around Flake’s neck. Till watches with fascination as Flake lathers his short hair with both hands, one supporting the back of his head. 

Paul closes his eyes again. “If you get it in my eyes I’ll avenge myself upon you.” He looks silly with his cap of suds, and not in any shape to do any kind of avenging. 

“I’m sure.” Flake kisses under his eyebrow, soapy hands holding his head in place. He leans Paul back into the water carefully, the edge of his hand on Paul’s forehead guarding his face from stray rivulets. Till puts his chin on Flake’s shoulder from behind, his chest tight again. 

Flake keeps stroking over his scalp until Paul says, “It’s done, Flake, it’s clean.” He steps back and sinks to the shower floor. “I’m just going to sit here a minute.” 

“Here, have the towel.” Flake turns to Till. “Want a turn?” 

Till should have expected the offer, but the intimacy of it still surprises him. He swallows. “Yeah.” 

They trade places. Paul is mostly out of the water’s path, it’s falling above where he sits with his head tipped back against the tiles. Till puts his hands on Flake’s puny waist as he squirts shampoo into his hand. 

Flake’s hands on his head are gentle but confident. It’s a strange feeling, having someone else run their fingers through his hair so familiarly - Flake’s not being fast. 

“How come you’re never afraid of squashing Paul?” Flake rubs lather above his ears, back to his nape. “He’s not big or anything.”

“He’s pretty sturdy.” 

“I’m right here.” Paul sounds like he would be indignant if he had the wherewithal for it. 

Till only barely remembers what they’re talking about. He can’t say he’s ever been particularly turned on by having his hair washed before, but he sure as hell is now. Flake guides him back into the water, and his hand protecting Till’s eyes is almost overwhelming. He opens his eyes again when Flake pulls him gently out of the spray. His flush is back, heating his face and neck. 

“Done?” It comes out as a whisper. 

“Nope, you get conditioner, your hair’s too long to skip it.” He grabs the bottle. It must be his own since Paul doesn’t use it. He rubs it between the fingers of both hands before combing it in. Till’s heart is in his throat. Flake works patiently, running his nails lightly on Till’s scalp and working it into the ends. He leans his head back into Flake’s hand and lets Flake steer him under the water. It feels like it takes a long time, warm spray hitting his head and running over his ears, making sounds distant, Flake’s other hand rinsing the slippery stuff out of the strands. 

Flake pecks him on the cheek. “Now done.” Till opens his eyes. “Trade me places, I want under the water. I’m cold.” He wraps his arms around Till and they turn together. 

Sounding slightly less concussed, Paul says, “Take care of that poor man already.” 

“It would be negligent not to,” Flake agrees, reaching again for the conditioner. Till’s eyes follow as he squirts a dollop into his hand, then reaches for his cock. Till feels himself throb at the first touch. He would be more than happy to let Flake just keep stroking him like that, but instead Flake tucks him between his thighs like before and pulls his hips in with a slick hand. 

Flake has to put his feet together to bring his legs close enough, and when Till starts sliding desperately Flake grabs for him so as to not be tipped over. Till spreads his own feet and hugs Flake close. His chest feels both peculiarly small in his arms and thoroughly alive pressed against his own. 

Flake kisses him lightly, openly. Till is keeping the pace in check just enough to keep from unbalancing both of them. Flake’s hands are on his ass, on his back, on his head. His gentle mouth on Till’s never takes, never forces, but invariably gets what it wants. 

He’s been pushing it off for hours but now his orgasm is rising up fast, a bright sparking presence in his nerves. It feels like the flush is spreading down his arms, his skin hot and sensitive. 

And then Till feels a stealthy hand cupping the head of his cock, catching it where it protrudes from under Flake’s ass. He opens his eyes enough to see Paul grinning up at him, arm raised. Till takes a breath like he’s diving and closes his eyes, clinging to Flake while his hips bump against his. 

He peeks again. This time Paul winks at him and licks the corner of his mouth. Till squeezes his eyes shut again. Paul’s hand is getting slick, he can feel it. Water is sluicing down Flake’s back and over Till’s arms. He thinks he’s just flushing all over now, back, legs, cock - especially cock. Flake’s dick between them is filled out and heavy. It brushes over the top of Till’s on some strokes. Paul is making a socket with his palm that Till pushes into. He has to be careful to not knock Flake over, he could so easily. 

Then Paul says brightly, “You’re kind of fucking both of us right now,” at the same instant as Flake decides to lick the roof of his mouth, and he knows he still tastes of Paul’s bitter come, and that’s it. Flake palms his ass while he grinds deeply in stuttering waves, one arm barred low across Flake’s back to hold him. Paul’s hand feels tight around him. Flake kisses him through it. 

He doesn’t want to move even though he’s really, thoroughly done. He’s cheek to cheek with Flake, panting on his ear. Paul is still holding him. 

“Well, Flake,” says Paul, “you didn’t get more jizz on you after all.” Till looks down. Paul’s raised arm has a stream of water running down it from Flake’s back, all the way down his side. It’s probably rinsing away his handful of semen. Paul brings his hand to his face and licks the palm. He grimaces. “Conditioner,” he explains. “And if you don’t want the water to get cold I’d recommend getting out now.” 

Flake contorts himself awkwardly trying to rinse between his thighs, until Paul rolls his eyes and takes the showerhead nozzle off its holder and hands it to him. Then Flake just swishes off Till’s dick with no warning, which makes him flinch back and Paul laugh. 

Standing on the bathmat Till asks Flake, “You want any -?” 

Flake shakes his head. “Too soon, for me.” He hugs Till damply. Paul has returned to the land of the upright, and pinches Till’s ass on his way past. 

They go back to the bedroom and Flake dives under the many blankets while Paul opens the curtains. It’s the very beginnings of grey dawn, just enough light to see that the sleet has turned into a slushy layer of snow overnight. 

“Is it still snowing?” Flake enquires from his nest. 

“Yeah,” says Till from beside Paul. “It’s probably going to go back to sleet during the day, though.” 

“Oh, I love it when it snows in the morning,” enthuses Flake. “Maybe I’ll -”

“Oh no you don’t,” Paul interjects. “Whatever it is, you won’t.” 

“What if it was luxuriating in the cabin?” 

“It wasn’t,” says Paul darkly. 

“But snow is appropriate for a mountain retreat, anyway,” Flake says, apparently in concession. 

“You don’t even have to get hypothermia to come up,” says Till, pulling his pants on. “Maybe let me know if you’re thinking of visiting, I’m - the road isn’t always good. But you can come for fun, and not just because you need a shelter.” He lays down on top of the blankets beside Flake, propping himself on his elbows. 

Flake, who seems totally unmotivated to go anywhere, scoots over to him and extends his arm out of the covers. He runs his hand down Till’s spine, neck to pelvis. “That was a good trick. Telling Paul that you taking care of him was him taking care of you.” He smooches Till’s upper arm. “That’s big, actually. For even that to be okay.” 

Paul sits naked on the edge of the bed and prods him through the layers. “Don’t give us too much credit, it’s not that hard to say ‘yes’ when someone asks nicely to blow you.” 

In Till’s ear Flake whispers, “He’s full of shit.” 

“It wasn’t really a trick,” says Till. “And I’m sure it was my turn to play host.” 

“Okay,” agrees Flake blithely. 

“I’ll get out the little paper parasols next time, then,” says Paul. Till reaches over Flake to trace Paul’s jaw. Paul leans into his hand. “Got room in front of the fire for me?”

“Always,” says Till.


End file.
